


A Blackened Heart

by RedFox13



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Angst, Budding Romance, Cruelty, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, One Shot, Pre Canon, Rubbish ahead, Sad Backstory, Short Story, Starvation, TLC, Wrongful Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFox13/pseuds/RedFox13
Summary: A servant with a tragic past becomes a Knight of Londor.
Relationships: Sister Friede/Sir Vilhelm (Dark Souls)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	A Blackened Heart

It was cold, so terribly cold. The frigid air stung his exposed skin. A thin layer of ragged cloth was his only protection, and right now it did little good. The stone floor beneath him slowly sapped the heat from his body, the iron shackles binding his wrists were so cold that they burned. The young man rolled over in his cell, his dark hair falling to the side to reveal dull gray eyes.

The winter sunlight trickled into his cell from a window up above, the golden rays beckoning him with their pleasant warmth. But he made no attempt to get up, he had already wasted so much energy trying to reach them. His chains confined him to a freezing corner that the light would never reach. Hours ticked by in a heavy silence, the faint flutter of his heart and his rasping breath the only sounds in the room. At one time he was a servant, but then he'd been wrongly accused of stealing food. His master locked him away for what was meant to be a week, but that was months ago.

The jailer never ventured down to the cells below the manor except to remove the corpses that were starting to rot. The poor soul who came before him had gone mad in his isolation, bloodied streaks and handprints covered the corner where he had sat. He had worn his fingers away clawing and scraping the stone in vain as he tried to dig his way out. The young man would not suffer the same fate, he did everything he could to survive and stay sane. At one time when rats would still scurry around his cell he would catch them and eat them. He would use a rag torn from his garments to soak up dew in the morning for water. In the evening he would pray that someone would come for him. But his hope and strength gradually began to fade away.

Eventually he stopped, he saw no reason in prolonging his suffering. He could feel himself dwindling away, all he could do now was sleep. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, tiny crystals of ice sparkled in the half light. His breath drifted up in faint wisps, he watched as they lazily danced in the morning air. Closing his eyes he let himself fall into a dreamless slumber. That evening as the sun slowly set it painted the sky in shades of red, orange, and gold. But the young man would never see it.....

.............................

He woke to a dull and dreary sky, the scent of rain lingering in the air. Sitting up he pulled himself free of the muck he was buried in, he was surrounded by half decayed corpses and rubbish. A dull burn made his chest ache, glancing down he saw the wretched darksign branded into his skin. His eyes darkened with rage as he balled his fist, in a loud voice he screamed. He cursed the gods and their sunlight, he cursed their blessed flame. He cursed every name in their sacred pantheon, and the cursed mark that was now his bane.

When his voice was raw and hoarse he finally relented, his eyes glinted with a cold determination. He would get his revenge, he would defy the gods by living and staying sane. He would turn his back on the flame and the duties of the Undead. His fate was his alone. Leaving behind the rubbish heap he made his way through the deserted village that was once his home. The manor house had become a decrepit ruin, weeds and vines had over taken the once immaculate grounds. The gargoyles flanking the gates had darkened with age, their fierce visage buried under a layer of moss.

Forcing open the rusted iron gate he stepped into the courtyard, laying discarded on the ground was a weathered great axe. Picking it up he hefted it over his shoulder and held it with both hands. A clatter from his left caught his attention, a hollow shambled out from a side entrance. It limply held on to a rusted rapier, it's blade at one point had been intricately decorated. It's filthy rags had once been a fine quality and richly colored. It's empty eyes stared at him as it's mouth hung open. It's chest heaved in gasping wheezes, a meaningless function now only carried out by muscle memory.

The young man's expression twisted into a wicked smile, a dark laugh came from deep inside him. Even as a hollow he recognized the face of his former master. Gripping his weapon tightly he brought down the hunk of iron. Over and over he hacked at the hollowed husk, it screamed loudly as blackened blood sprayed the man's face. Letting himself get lost in his bloodlust he smashed and mangled the carcass until it was a pile of flesh and shattered bone. He gave a satisfied growl as he wrenched the great axe free and rested it on his shoulder. Turning away he still wore a wicked smile, and it stayed there as he set off down the road. The nearest kingdom was Londor, a perfect place for an Undead like him.

..........................

She had been tending the incense when he shuffled in. Her heart pounded in fright at the sight of him, he was clad in nothing more than a loincloth. His sun kissed skin was darkened with mud and grime and stretched over his skeletal frame. His dark hair hung in dirty clumps about his shoulders. His steel colored eyes held a feral gleam, on his shoulder was a great axe. The only thing more frightening was the man collapsing to the ground, his weapon coming a hair from decapitating him.

"Yuria!" The woman yelled. Removing the outer coat of her holy robes she draped it over him. A moment later another woman clad in a black mourning dress rushed in, her face hidden behind her billed mask. "Elfriede! What's wrong?" She called as she came to her side. Yuria gasped in shock at the stranger on the floor. "Ready a bed in the guest room and fetch my medicine chest." Elfriede commanded calmly.

As Yuria hurried to carry out her task Elfriede picked the man up and carried him to a small bedroom deep within the church. Laying him on the bed she grabbed a basin and filled it with water. Taking a rag she gently scrubbed away the dirt and mud on his body. Yuria helped to hold him up as she washed his hair, after drying him off she dressed him in a dark gray tunic and sleeping pants. "He is most fortunate to pass out here, if he were elsewhere the roaming hollows would feast on him." Yuria said calmly as if she were talking about the weather.

"He is naught but bones, the hollows would starve trying to feast on him." Elfriede glanced at the sleeping man with a pitiful expression. "I shall return to my duties, unless there is anything else?" Yuria asked. "No, I shall tend to him for now. Tell our Lord of our new guest." Elfriede replied. Yuria gave a dignified bow before turning to walk away.

...........................

The young man woke to find himself dressed in clean clothes and resting in a warm bed. Sitting on a chair next to him was a woman clothed in black holy robes, her hands were folded reverently in prayer, rosary beads dangled from her pale, delicate hands. Her lilac eyes made her look gentle and benevolent, but the blackened burn scar on her face told of a difficult past. Something about her presence there felt oddly comforting, like coming home after a long journey. "Are you a goddess?" The man asked, his voice coming out cold and gravelly.

The woman looked at him with an amused smile on her face. "No, I am merely human. The gods have no love for us here in Londor, we are of the dark and here we embrace it." Her voice was soothing, he wasn't sure why but he found it enchanting to listen to. "What is thy name?" She asked softly. He was quiet for a moment, it had been so long he almost didn't remember his name. "My Lady, I am Vilhelm. I am a lowly servant without a homeland."

"Then thou art welcome to call Londor your home. Until thou art well Vilhelm, thou shalt remain in thy care." The woman smiled softly. "My Lady, can'st thou come closer?" Vilhelm asked. Elfriede nodded as she moved to sit on the bed, Vilhelm pulled himself into a sitting position. "Permit me to express my gratitude." Vilhelm said as he gently grasped Elfriede's robes and guided her forward. Her eyes widened as her lips met his, her rosary clattering to the floor as she wrapped her arms around him to hold herself steady.

He kissed her gently and with a reverence known only to saints and gods. Elfriede closed her eyes and sighed blissfully as Vilhelm placed a hand on the back of her head. He tasted dark, and earthy, Elfriede found it oddly intoxicating. She pressed her tongue against his lips, he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair causing him to rumble contentedly. The sound of their kissing and their breath could barely be heard over the crackle of the fire nearby.

When he pulled away Elfriede rested her forehead against Vilhelm's. The mysterious scent of a deep forest clung to his skin making her breathe deeply. "My Lady, what is thy name?" Vilhelm whispered. "Elfriede." She murmured. "Lady Elfriede, what a beautiful name." Vilhelm growled. Her name on his lips sent a pleasant chill down her spine. "I am in your debt Lady Elfriede. When I am recovered, will you permit me to serve you? Grant me purpose so I do not go hollow." Vilhelm asked.

As Elfriede sat up she saw the determined look in his eyes. "I must consult with my master, the decision is his." She replied.

.................................

Months had passed since he'd arrived in Londor, as Vilhelm recovered his strength returned. He put himself to work tending to any task his Lady asked of him. Under Yuria he was instructed in the way of the sword and gifted with a great sword. He delighted in the morbid task of disposing of hollows that posed a threat to the citizens of Londor. His eagerness drew the attention of Lady Elfriede's master and one day he found himself being summoned to his chambers.

The room beyond the ornate double doors was so dark it was disorienting. A foul stench that could only be described as death wafted out from the abyss along with the clacking of bone. As the doors closed behind him he walked slowly, unsure of where the ground was. He froze and knelt as a voice echoed from the darkness.

"Welcome, Vilhelm. I have been watching thee for some time, your eagerness to serve is most pleasing." The voice boomed. "Tell me, was thou a servant of the gods during life?" Vilhelm lifted his head to glare into the darkness. "Damn the gods! Damn them all!! They turned their back on me long before I became Undead!!" His voice came out as a sinister growl. The voice chuckled darkly in amusement. "You are filled with hate for the gods, I feel the Dark Soul strongly within you. You are most useful to thee." The voice was quiet for a moment, the clacking seemed to grow distant for a time before coming closer.

"Do you swear to serve Lady Elfriede and the Sable Church of Londor?" The voice asked. "With my life." Vilhelm replied. "Do you abandoned your sacred duty of the Undead to link the First Flame?" The voice asked. "I already have." Vilhelm replied. "Then I Kaathe, the Darkstalker, dub thee a servant of the Dark and a knight of the Sable Church of Londor. Rise Sir Vilhelm, and claim thy armor."

Lady Elfriede was tending flowers in the church garden when Vilhelm arrived. He was clad in ornate darkened brass armor, a chain link and silk shawl was draped over his shoulders. His face was hidden under a featureless helmet with only a thin slit as a visor. Reverently he knelt before her. "My Lady, I await thy command." He said calmly. Lady Elfriede smiled softly as she turned to face him. "Sir Vilhelm, you may rise." She commanded.


End file.
